A Little Diversion
by JoJo4
Summary: Faramir suspects that Eomer does not approve of him.
1. Part I

Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. I'm not making any money off this story.  
  
A Little Diversion by Jenni  
  
The hall of Meduseld was filled with a wonderful emptiness, or so thought Éowyn as she cuddled closer to Faramir. They had both been sad to bid farewell to their guests, and yet their departures allowed them to walk and speak with each other in a solitude they had not had since their meeting in the Houses of Healing. Presently, Faramir was snoozing with a book resting over his chest that rose and fell with each breath he took. He was lying on a wide bench in the throne room with his head propped on his folded cloak, and Éowyn sat by him on the floor, which was still covered in the skins that had been laid out for the comfort of their guests.  
  
Faramir was the only one of her brother's guests who had stayed after Elessar had returned from the North for his wife. Imrahil too had departed to his lands just over a week ago, although not before securing a promise from Éomer that he would come to stay in Belfalas for a few short weeks. The two men had struck up a close friendship, and Éowyn guessed it was because her brother attributed to Imrahil the salvation of her life. For if he had not seen that she had still been breathing, she might very well have died. With Faramir he also had been most cordial, but the two did not speak much, for Éowyn kept her betrothed to herself whenever she could. This was no so much out of possessiveness on her part, but of fear for what her brother might say to the young steward. But yesterday had been an exception. After watching the two compete in an archery contest, Éomer had been so impressed by Faramir's skill with the bow that Éowyn judged her brother might be civil and had withdrawn to her room in order to allow them time to bond over it.  
  
She was glad they liked each other, for their first few meetings had been very formal and she had worried when Éomer did not extend to him the hand of friendship that he so naturally gave to everyone else. Neither did he agree to let them set a date for their wedding, which had been a great source of frustration for her. Éowyn had always been able to outsmart her brother in a debate, yet on this subject he had proven impossibly stubborn. Perhaps Éomer was still mystified by her quick change of heart. Indeed, he had confessed to her the night before her troth-plighting that he still found it difficult to believe her happiness was genuine. It was not that he suspected Faramir, he had assured her, or doubted her choice, but merely because he had never in his life seen her so radiant. It was as if a miracle had occurred. Yet Éowyn had only laughed at her brother and told him that miracles were not in such short supply any longer.  
  
Ah, and Faramir was a miracle. Albeit a miracle who snored.  
  
She poked him a little on his shoulder and he flinched, but did not awake. Perhaps he had not really felt it, for the shirt he wore was of a thick velvet. It was sable with silver diamonds embroidered into the sleeves. He looked far too grand for the empty hall, but this she found endearing. She poked him again a little harder to no visible effect. But when she blew in his ear, he bolted upright and reached out as if looking for a weapon. However in the process of doing so, he managed to knock Éowyn in the head.  
  
"Oh!" she cried, placing her hand on her cheek. In truth it didn't really hurt, but she wanted to tease Faramir. "Well, it serves me right for waking you."  
  
At first, Faramir was still too sleepy to process what had happened, but when he saw Éowyn clutching her head he regained his mind enough to laugh at her.  
  
"It is not funny," she pouted. "That hurt."  
  
"I am sorry, love," he said, sitting up. He removed her hand from her head so he could kiss the point of injury. "But I am still very much a ranger and ever ready for battle."  
  
"What were you dreaming of?" she said, playfully. She admired his sleepy grey eyes, which despite his declaration of alertness betrayed his exhaustion. Yesterday Éomer had been very hard on him, though Faramir had been extremely polite and had declined nothing whether it was an archery contest, a horse race or a mock sword duel.  
  
"I don't remember," he replied some moments after she had asked her question, having obviously not processed the question. "But surely I can't have been asleep too long. Maybe I dreamt of nothing at all."  
  
Éowyn accepted this and kissed him quickly. "Are you still tired, Faramir?"  
  
"Oh a little, but I will rise now. The day should not be wasted." And indeed the day should not be wasted, for it was a glorious summer afternoon, and yet there was a gentle breeze that dispelled the heat. The weather had been marvelous ever since the victory at the Black Gate, and Éowyn felt sorry that soon it would be fall. But perhaps when fall came she would be in Gondor where it was warmer.  
  
Faramir began to massage her hand with his fingers, which was a delicious sensation. The motion sent tingles up her arm.  
  
"Did you have something particular you wanted to do?" he asked her.  
  
Éowyn nodded. "Let us go for a ride. I want to race you again."  
  
"You mean you want to beat me again," he corrected her.  
  
She leapt to her feet and began to head in the direction of the stables, making Faramir laugh at her confidence that he would agree. But before she could take one step, her betrothed had caught her hand and pulled her back to him. She was on her knees when their lips met. It had happened sooner than either had intended, and each was surprised by the intensity of feeling. Éowyn's eyes did not close at first, but when they did it was if she had surrendered to the emotion of the moment completely. Her arms went around his neck. His hands entwined in her golden hair, pressing her closer.  
  
"Ahem."  
  
Éowyn jumped at the sound and shoved herself to her feet, frantically wiping her mouth from the shame of being caught. Éomer King stood before them with an impassive expression on his face, but his foot was tapping on the stonework of the floor. For a long time no one spoke. Éowyn was too embarrassed. Knowing Faramir, Éowyn decided he probably felt guilty for disrespecting the King's household, despite the fact that they were betrothed and had every right to express their love for one another.  
  
Éomer, for his part, concealed his thoughts as best he could, but the silence had to be broken. And so he motioned toward his sister. "Could I see you in private for a moment?"  
  
Éowyn gritted her teeth in frustration, knowing exactly what was coming next. Her brother was being absolutely ridiculous about this, and although she did not say so she made her opinion blatant in her angry posturing as he pulled her to the side of the hall and away from Faramir's hearing.  
  
"I did not expect my sister to behave so," he said, more than a little imperious, and yet to Éowyn's ears far less harsh that she had expected. But he did not let her speak, and this angered her above all things. "You will go to your room and not see the Lord Steward for the rest of the day," he informed her.  
  
"Éomer!" she cried, "You can't separate us as if we are miscreant children. When we are wed, will you come to Emyn Arnen and tie us to the pillars of our house?"  
  
Éomer turned a little red, which indicated not embarrassment, but repressed anger. Éowyn had seen it before many times in her Uncle's court: the face of a man thwarted in council.  
  
"I do not decide what will be done with you in Gondor when you are wed, but rather what will be done under my own roof while you are not. And I won't have you compromised in any way. Therefore, sister, go to your room and do not question me."  
  
Éowyn was tempted to hit him, and perhaps if he were not the king she would have done so, for they had knocked each other senseless as children, and it was as a child that he saw her now. But at the very pinnacle of her wrath, she noticed an odd playfulness in her brother's eye. And then he winked. Confused, she remained silent for a while before she decided to let the matter play out. She was curious as to what her brother was planning, for Éomer's pranks were always a delight, even to those upon whom they were played.  
  
"Verily I go," she answered as sternly and formally as she could. And truly, she was still quite irritated. "Yet not because you order it, but because I have nothing further to say to you." Then she stormed out, casting only one tormented glance at Faramir, sitting abashed on the mead bench.  
  
*****  
  
Faramir was astounded as he watched Éowyn dash from the hall, and suddenly realized that there had been some terrible misunderstanding. Some horrible clash of cultures perhaps, and now Éomer was going to challenge him or perhaps deny him the right to marry her. Or perhaps he was just going to thrash him soundly across the face. None of these scenarios were appealing to his honor, yet Faramir was not a rash man and so the first words he spoke were diplomatic.  
  
"Lord Éomer, I assure you that in all matters concerning your sister, I have acted impeccably, and beg that you do not insult my honor by suggesting otherwise."  
  
"Lord Faramir, would you accompany me on a tour of Edoras? I wish to have your opinion on our drinking supplies."  
  
"W.what?" Faramir stuttered, discomfited. "Excuse me, my lord, but I would speak to you concerning Éowyn."  
  
But Éomer pretended not to have heard, and instead clapped him soundly on the back like an affectionate brother. "I have heard much of the efficiency of Gondor's water system, and I should very much like to implement something of that nature here."  
  
Faramir merely gawked at him, but allowed the King to redirect him to the main doors, where he was almost certain that he would be thrown down the steps. But when they stood outside the Golden Hall, overlooking the city, he found that Éomer was still speaking.  
  
"I have already spoken to Gimli, Gloin's son, about the construction of a city wall. After all we have been through during the war, it might behoove us to improve our defenses, and we are a people little skilled in stonework."  
  
Here the Lord Steward found himself unable to resist the lure of a conversation on city planning. The administrator inside him went too deep, and since Éomer was not kicking him or challenging him to any duels, he allowed the incident in the hall to seep from his mind.  
  
Together they walked, side by side as friends, and Faramir pointed out the merits of a sewage system and explained the one in use at Minas Tirith. "It is very difficult to bring water into the city, but we do so by pumping it from the river through underground pipes that are large enough for a man to walk in case there is some need of repair. I am sure this could be done here, but you would need to expend considerable time uprooting the earth before any cement can be laid."  
  
They were half way down the mountain when he finished this piece of advice, and it was then that Faramir realized he might be boring Éomer. But when he glanced over at the king, he appeared to be deeply in thought.  
  
"Think you that the hall too must be unearthed?"  
  
"I do not know. You will need a more skilled opinion than mine."  
  
Éomer accepted this and then clapped him on the back again. But there was a long silence as the King seemed to be appraising him. Ah, at last we come to it, thought Faramir. But perhaps he has forgiven me, for he no longer seems wroth. Yet nonetheless he steeled himself against some blow.  
  
"What do you have to give my sister?"  
  
Faramir was quite surprised at the bluntness of the question, and also more than a little hurt by the implication that Éomer could find nothing worthwhile in him, especially after spending the better part of an hour advising him on the best ways to improve his city. The memory of Denethor came to mind unbidden and unwelcome, especially in a place where he had thought himself an equal in honor with his host and a valued friend. And so if he answered with a touch of weariness, it must be forgiven.  
  
"If you please, my lord, I can offer Éowyn my love, which is all the better since she hath many times shown that the gift will be reciprocal. Yet if you mean to question me about my position in life, then as you well know, I can offer her a title, an estate and an alliance."  
  
"No no," Éomer interrupted with a laugh, which wounded Faramir even more, until the King clarified. "This I already knew, and I do not now doubt your ability to make her happy, although I confess that when your intentions were originally announced I had due cause for misgivings. But I meant to inquire after smaller things. Tokens. What can you give her?"  
  
Faramir was understandably confused. What could he be talking about? Material gifts? He had given Éowyn a cloak, a stack of books, a necklace, a heap of compliments. "I am afraid I have lost you, my lord."  
  
The King looked disappointed, but in the end he simply shrugged. "Do not trouble yourself over it. I am afraid I must leave you now, for I have other matters to which I must attend, but I thank you for your advice, Lord Steward."  
  
Éomer had gone no more than two steps up the hill when he turned around as if to speak, but then he seemed to think better of it and continued up the hill, leaving Faramir to ponder over the exchange.  
  
***** 


	2. Part II

Éowyn was sitting on a wooden stool by the hearth, feeling very foolish as she poked the blackened logs. There was no fire, for it was too warm for one and since the sun was bright in the sky there was no need for light. Yet she was restless and could not concentrate on any of the books Faramir had given her on herblore, nor even on her swordsmanship and so she contented herself with poking an imaginary fire.  
  
Bitterly, she regretted not forcing her brother to tell her what mischief he was planning. It was probably some great joke on Faramir, she thought with dismay. And by obeying her brother she had become a party to it. That is, if Éomer was in fact planning something. It had occurred to her that Éomer might actually be angry. After all, it was one thing to be kissing in private, but quite another to be kissing in the great hall where any servant or guard might come upon them. And then rumors might be spread throughout Edoras (and subsequently the whole kingdom) of debauchery in Éomer King's household. But then the absurdity of this came into her mind, and she scoffed at such things. It had only been a kiss.  
  
Éowyn had been in her room over an hour when the door opened finally behind her. She turned, expecting her brother, but found instead one of her maids.  
  
She shot her a look that was both curious and annoyed, as if to say, "I did not send for you. What business have you here?"  
  
The lady curtsied. "Begging your pardon, my lady, but the King bade me come. He wished me to deliver this."  
  
And suddenly the maid stepped aside, reveling two other maids holding the most beautiful dress Éowyn had ever seen. She was sure that it was silk, and silk of the purest white. Over the low neck the finest strands of gold and silver had been embroidered.or perhaps it was mithril. One of the serving women held a belt of gold tinted red with copper, which had been assembled by chaining together the smallest links that could possibly be crafted in the manner of chain mail, and attaching the outer ones to fillets of steel. She saw the intricacy of the belt's design: the patterns made by different sizes of links and different metals. If she hadn't seen the horse buckle she would have guessed it to be of Elvish make.  
  
Yet the belt was nothing to the dress. How it shimmered, even in this, the dimmest of light! Even though Éowyn generally cared very little for dresses, she found herself entranced as she approached it and ran her hand gently over the delicate fabric, almost afraid to touch it.  
  
"Silk from Dol Amroth, my lady," said the maid who held it.  
  
"Prince Imrahil?" she gasped in wonder, realizing that it was a wedding present.  
  
"I know not, my lady. You will have to ask your brother," answered one of the maids, casting her eyes downward in a manner that made it seem to Éowyn as if she were afraid to say too much.  
  
"Where is Éomer?" asked Éowyn.  
  
The maid holding the belt answered. "He is in his room, my lady. And if you please, madam, he also commands that you surrender your sword in exchange for this dress."  
  
Éowyn nearly choked, not certain she had heard correctly. She noticed the maids backing away from her, and realized that she must look very angry. But in truth she felt no hostility whatsoever. Instead, she walked to her sword, which she had propped up against the wall by her bed-the very same sword her brother had presented to her after their Uncle's funeral, seized it and then surprised her maids by walking right out the door.  
  
"Lay the dress out on the bed," she called behind her.  
  
Then she shocked the servants even further by barging into her brother's rooms, launching herself into his arms, and crying, "Oh Éomer! You are the kindest and best of brothers!"  
  
*****  
  
Faramir wandered through Edoras alone after Éomer had left him. He had gone to the stables, but Éowyn was not there and so he had left feeling a bit betrayed. Why hadn't Éowyn defended him? All he had done was kiss her, and this had been no more than they had ever done before.  
  
But then, Éomer was her brother. He could not ask her to fight with the King for his sake. Another small part of his mind said that he could not ask it, but such a request should not be required in the first place.  
  
He found himself disliking Éomer for the first time since they had been introduced. What sort of a man would deny his sister happiness merely to increase his own? Why could he not take pleasure in her joy? Why would he not let them ride to Gondor and be married?  
  
Imrahil had liked the King very much, but that was of no comfort to Faramir. His uncle was the very best judge of character, and yet what did good character matter if Éomer did not approve of him? For surely this was the problem. He and Éomer had never fought side by side in battle. He had never been able to prove his worth in person. And Faramir then thought that perhaps he himself would not approve if Boromir were still alive and had attached himself to one woman so quickly after being in love with another.  
  
Faramir reasoned through the entire situation with admirable calm, trying his hardest to see Éomer's point of view. Yes, it must be hard giving up one's only remaining family when peace has just arrived. It was an easy distance between Emyn Arnen and Edoras, merely a week's journey. Only four on a quick mount, and even less if one were to travel light. Yet Éomer was king now, and grounded in his kingdom with responsibilities. Visits would be infrequent.  
  
The more Faramir tried to understand Éomer, the more he felt disappointed. It seemed that Éomer was trying to find excuses not to allow him to marry Éowyn, just as his father had always found excuses not to find any worth in him. And although he had not been angry with Éomer when they had parted, he found his normally controlled temper rising with each second.  
  
The pathetic question came to mind: why did this always happen to him?  
  
He was walking aimlessly now, head down and feet kicking at rocks just like a little boy. There was nothing high or lordly about his appearance now save the clothes on his back, for he felt beaten down by the earlier incident. He kicked a particularly large rock that then went skitting down the path to strike one of the water jugs a servant was filling from the fountain. Her head shot up as if to give the offender a withering glare, but when she saw it was Faramir her face softened and she acknowledged him with a curtsy, though he could see she was still irritated. Then he remembered himself at last. He could not act like a child, nor should he. Éomer had not thrown him out of his house, and for all he knew the argument he had had with Éowyn concerned some other matter.  
  
"I apologize," he offered to the woman before heading back in the direction of the stables. Once there Faramir found his horse, Cirion, stuffing himself from the oatbag over his nose, and picked up a brush. He had only worked his way down the first leg when he heard the voices of two grooms coming from the entrance.  
  
"I heard the King commanded her to surrender her sword," said the first.  
  
Her sword? thought Faramir. This must be Éowyn of whom they spoke.  
  
"Did he?" said the second stablehand. "Well, that seems fitting to me, and now makes great sense of my earlier questions. I always thought that the sword was not proper for a woman to wield."  
  
But they were walking quickly, and were soon out of hearing range. Faramir deemed it improper to have heard such a gossip-laden conversation, and tried to drive it from his mind. Yet, he could not help being angered for Éowyn's sake. How would these men know what was proper for a woman? Had they even seen her with a sword? But more importantly, why would the King have asked her to surrender it? Perhaps that was what they had argued over earlier and not the kiss. But it made no sense to Faramir why Éomer should ask for his sister's sword, especially since he had presented it to her himself. After thinking far too much on the subject for several minutes, Faramir then recalled his father's advice to him many years ago that he should put no store in the gossip of servants. Unfortunately, this piece of advice-no matter how wise-could not keep his mind from straying towards the subject, and then a great desire came over him to see Éowyn, for he knew she would explain everything.  
  
He finished brushing down Cirion, and then slipped quietly from the stables, not wanting the two grooms in the back to see him. He returned then to the Hall, hoping he might see he bethrothed waiting for him on the steps. But she was absent.  
  
The guards snapped their spears back to let him pass, much to his relief. He could never see their eyes through their helmets, yet something in their posture as he approached seemed to grow particularly steely. Faramir had half expected them to throw him down the stairs. There was some strange atmosphere now over the city, as if each servant were bracing himself for something.  
  
As he entered the hall, he found servants scurrying around with water jugs or food. Each refused to meet his gaze, and in fact hurried about their business even faster, as if they would like nothing better than to be out of his presence. But worst of all, he did not see Éowyn. He found the way to her chambers guarded by a flock of gasping maids, and so he did not even attempt to knock on her door. Instead, he returned briefly to the throne room in order to collect the book he had left there, and retired to his own room on the other side of the Hall feeling dismayed and tired. There he remained for the duration of the evening except for when he emerged to dine. But when Éowyn was not present at the table, all Éomer's back- clapping and jovial outbursts could not keep him from his suspicions.  
  
*****  
  
Long after he had fallen asleep the creak of a door awakened Faramir. As he had warned Éowyn earlier, he still behaved in such situations as if he were again the ranger of Ithilien. Therefore, his first thought was to find his sword, but as he squinted in the dark, he was overcome by the surreal quality of the night. He found that he could not reach for his weapon, nor did he want to. Faramir simply knew that he was in no danger.  
  
And sure enough, the first crack of light that escaped from the hall into his chamber was followed the delicate figure of a woman slip through the door. She held a lamp in one hand, and closed the door gently behind her. The pale light grew even dimmer then, and Faramir realized that there had been others outside the door, also holding lamps. He sat upright, still struggling to see through the shadows.  
  
The woman set the candle down on a small table by the door and faced him. She was pale as the flowers of Lorien, he deemed, but more beautiful. She radiated with the faintest of lights. Faramir sighed with contentment. "Éowyn."  
  
Éowyn had come. Faramir was certain he was dreaming, for she seemed so perfectly beautiful that it was unreal. She was as fragile and vulnerable as he had ever seen her and moved with a grace almost elven in quality. He felt as if he touched her that he would mar her beauty, like a man who reaches out to catch a snowflake only to see it melt as it touches his palm. Yes, he was certainly dreaming.  
  
"Faramir," whispered the dream Éowyn as she came toward him. She trembled when she took his hand. Kneeling before him, she placed his palm on her cheek and Faramir saw that she was not a snowflake. She did not disappear. He leaned down to kiss her. Gently at first, their mouths barely open, and then more urgently as their passion increased. She tasted like the finest wine.  
  
She felt so real.  
  
Her tongue brushed across his lips. He felt her shudder against him as his hands tickled the base of her neck. Hers caressed his chest through his thin linen shirt. "I love you."  
  
Faramir didn't know who had said it, but it didn't seem to matter. He said it anyway, "I love you." Again and again he whispered it against her skin.  
  
He kissed by the ears, on her neck, then lower. It was the most intimate they had ever been with each other, and he could feel himself stir beneath the covers.  
  
Éowyn found his hands, now cupping her face, and directed them lower to her back and the ties of her dress.  
  
"Are you sure?" he asked, looking at her in wonder. But all the same, he was certain she was not real.  
  
The dream Éowyn smiled at him. "You are my husband," was her simple answer.  
  
"Then you are my wife." He pulled the ties, slowly at first and then faster as he realized how much pulling he would have to do. All the while Éowyn laughed at his haste until abruptly she stopped and gazed full at him with heavy-lidded eyes. He saw there fear and desire and realized she was nervous.  
  
She stood now, very close to him with his knees on each side of her. Were he to lean over one inch, he would be able to kiss the flat of her stomach. Her scent was intoxicating, like wildflowers and the dew on the morning grass. He breathed her in, then kissed her softly on the belly. And as she leaned over, he kissed what flesh was exposed above her low neckline.  
  
Éowyn reached up to her shoulders and pulled the fabric away, allowing her dress to fall away. Faramir was kissing her when he felt the dress slide away. Éowyn's hands had tightened to fists in his shirt, and he pulled away long enough for her to divest him of it. Then he threw back the covers and stood so he could lift her in his arms and place her upon the bed.  
  
***** 


	3. Part III

Author's Notes: This is the slightly revised version. After going over it, I saw a few typos and other errors. I know there's a "to" where there should be a "too," but I can't find it now. Points to whomever can!  
  
In the morning Éowyn awoke first to the feeling of a delicious soreness in her body. Faramir lay behind her and one of his arms rested under her head. She stretched, but carefully so as not to wake Faramir. Then she got up and lifted her dress from off the floor, happy to discover that it was not wrinkled. She used the wash bowl placed by the bed, and then she hastened to put on her dress, for she was certain her brother would be coming soon and did not wish to be discovered naked. But during all this, she did not wake Faramir, mostly because he looked so peaceful in his sleep.  
  
After all the horror stories the maids had told her, she had not expected to enjoy her 'wifely duties' so much, but Faramir had been so attentive and gentle that Éowyn now laughed at her worries. When he first touched her she had sensed that he was completely awed by her, and this she found highly flattering. But as the night wore on they had become more familiar with each other, and although that initial sense of wonder dissipated to some degree, their enjoyment of one another increased.  
  
But most of all she was happy because she was his finally, and he hers. Their life together had finally begun, and from this beginning until death claimed one of them she foresaw little cause for separation.  
  
She clipped the belt around her waist, but realized that in order to put her dress on properly she would have to wake Faramir. And so she kneeled by the bed and was about to blow in his ear just as she had done the day before when suddenly the door flew open and in jumped five of the royal guards in their finery.  
  
Faramir jolted awake beside her, smacking his head against hers which had been hovering a few inches above. He clutched at his head, cried out and then met her eyes. Éowyn was shocked to see the utter terror that came over him.  
  
"You weren't a dream!" he gasped.  
  
"Nay, lord," she said. "Did you not know?" But he was too agitated to answer.  
  
He gaped at the guards who were storming into the room, appearing to Éowyn needlessly menacing. Faramir was fumbling for his sword, no doubt. Éowyn watched with a touch of amusement as his hands searched for it the sheets, under his pillow, by the bed. He seemed to go whiter when his hand found his discarded leggings instead.  
  
"It's gone!" he cried, but his voice was not frantic. To Éowyn's ears it held a deep hurt that seemed to go beyond anger. Only then did she understand how confused he actually was. He had not even noticed that the guards halted their approach. But just as she was about to ask them to leave there came a booming voice from the door:  
  
"Faramir, son of Denethor, this is no a battlefront. Why do you look for your sword?"  
  
Éowyn turned to see her brother, wearing his finest clothes and holding two crowns of wildflowers, one in each hand. These were for the bride and groom to wear during their wedding feast and were by custom given to the couple by the bride's nearest of kin. But Faramir had not even shown the slightest sign that he noticed them, for he seemed to be stilling himself against some stroke of death. His face was quite red. Finally, it occurred to Éowyn that Faramir had not known at all about her peoples' customs, and at last her brother's jest was revealed to her. He had not said a word to Faramir. She shot Éomer a withering look. "Brother, you didn't tell him?"  
  
Faramir backed as far as he could into the head board of his bed, looking very sheepish indeed. He brought the covers over his bare chest. "Tell me what?"  
  
*****  
  
"So, we are married.?" Faramir questioned the woman he now understood to be his wife as they sat at the King's table in the Great Hall finishing up the third course in what promised to be an endless wedding feast. They were both wearing circlets of wildflowers, which on her looked quite beautiful, but his itched. He was certain Éomer had instructed the servants to weave it too small so that it irritated his forehead after he pushed it down on his head.  
  
"Yes, my love," answered Éowyn for the second time. But unlike the hurried explanation she had given him as her brother hauled them into the great hall (both dressed), she stopped to explain the custom. "In Rohan the feast and ceremony come after the consummation. This ensures that there is nothing wrong with either party. It has been thus ever since the years long before Eorl when one of our chieftains attempted to pass off his daughter as a man and run off with his daughter-in-law's dowry."  
  
"I see," Faramir said, feeling both amused and fascinated by this piece of history. "Is there any precedent of the groom not being told in advance that he is in fact a groom?"  
  
Éowyn laughed. "No, dearest. My brother just thought it would be a good joke."  
  
"I think that I will only be able to laugh harder after the passage of several years. I was certain I would have to fight him. I am most pleased that I did not." He took her hand and kissed it lightly, ignoring the drunken teasing of their friends as they noticed the gesture.  
  
Éowyn too ignored them, although she blushed. But she whispered an apology under the clamorous jibes. "I am sorry. I thought he had told you."  
  
"It was a pleasant surprise," he told her. "Although it is much more pleasant now that I am looking at you than it was when I was staring at your brother."  
  
"Aye, my lord," was her only reply, but he saw that her eyes were laughing. Then she said, "Have you had dreams of me before where I came to your chamber at night?"  
  
Faramir did not blush, which he saw surprised his wife. He had been so very agitated earlier and so unlike himself. But now that his confidence had returned he met her gaze with his characteristic assurance. "Yes, I have had dreams of you," he said simply. "You have spoken to me in them. In them you have told me you loved me ever since the first since I saw you."  
  
Éowyn accepted this, eyes shining with happiness. "I am glad we will not have to wait until we reach Gondor to be wed."  
  
Faramir felt a great flush of pleasure at her words and knew that despite the scare Éomer had given him, he was greatly in his debt. But as they leaned in closer to each other the ooohing of the surrounding crowd began again and all they managed was a small peck before the room erupted into a chorus of drunken cheering. For the sake of their ears they parted.  
  
"Your brother must have been planning this for a very long time," said Faramir, noting his Uncle's presence in the crowd of feasters, who had finally stopped teasing him when they realized he was not going to do more than kiss his wife's hand. Imrahil had apparently arrived last night with his children in tow, meaning that Éomer must have started planning the wedding at least two weeks ago. His uncle saw him looking, and hoisted a mug of ale into the air. It sloshed over the side and trickled down his arm, causing him to curse and bend over to reach for the bottom of his cloak in order to wipe it off. As his uncle did this, the people behind him were no longer obscured from view. They were Éomer and his cousin Lothiriel, conversing with great enthusiasm it seemed. Briefly, Faramir considered calling over her brothers to concoct some mischievous scheme of their own, but decided against it. It was too soon, after all.  
  
He looked again at his uncle, who being extremely drunk, had managed to tangled his cloak in his baldric. Faramir's mind went to his sword, wondering if Éomer had taken it as part of this joke or one entirely separate. A thought came to him then.  
  
"Is there no other ceremony attached to this wedding?" he inquired very pointedly.  
  
Éowyn nodded. "Yes, there is an exchange of gifts. They are tokens of faithfulness."  
  
Faramir nearly smacked his head with his hand for embarrassment. "Tokens," was all he said, recalling his earlier conversation with the King. His suspicions were confirmed.  
  
Yet the exchange did not take place until almost midday (when Faramir thought if he had to nibble on one more rib of sweet pork he would be ill), the timing of which Éowyn informed him was not the general custom among the Rohirrim. However Faramir had been observing Éomer and Lothiriel off and on for much of the morning, and guessed that his charming cousin was the reason for the delay. But at last there was heard a clanging of glasses and a clatter of plates as Éomer King abandoned his pretty companion and stepped up to the dais and awaited the attention of his guests. "It is now time for the exchange of gifts!"  
  
Then he motioned towards the side of the hall from whence came the master of arms, holding two swords, one of which Faramir recognized as his own errant weapon, and another which he knew to be Éowyn's.  
  
When the swordmaster was near, Éowyn took the blade that was hers and placed it in his hands, allowing her fingers to lovingly brush his. He caught them in his own, and there she pledged herself to him as they held hands beneath her sword that was now his. "This I give to you, my husband, as a token of my love and a pledge of my faithfulness until death."  
  
Faramir examined the blade as a compliment to her choice (although it had really been her brother's), smiling just as much because of the high quality of the blade as he was from the realization that Éowyn had surrendered her sword to her brother only for safe-keeping until this exchange of gifts. The words of the grooms returned to him as well: that it was not fitting for a woman. And indeed it was not, for the blade was heavy and too long for her to wield. The blade itself seemed to be wrought in the style of the blades of Gondor even though the hilt and handle bore the horse motifs of the royal house of Rohan. Then Faramir understood that Éomer had selected this sword for him rather than for his sister, knowing that she would present it to him at their wedding feast. He was moved by this, and humbled also by his earlier doubts of Éomer's motives.  
  
Then he took the sword that had been his--the sword with which he had fought so long for his homeland--and set it without regret in the arms of his wife, echoing her pledge; and seeing their happiness, all within the hall applauded.  
  
*****  
  
The festivities dragged on past nightfall with dancing and drinking (of course), but even the mighty Rohirrim can be conquered by excessive ale, and so the revels quieted down as the night wore on, though they did not cease. The activities then turned to the singing of songs, some sad, but mostly those full of mirth. But before the tales became to bawdy, Faramir prevailed upon Lothiriel to sing a song of Númenor. She had surprised the entire hall when one of her brothers had interrupted in the middle by complaining it was too somber for a wedding feast by completely changing the tale, though still singing in verse, into one with a happy ending. Both Faramir and Éowyn had noted the look on Éomer's face, and long afterward as they looked back on the night, they deduced that it been Lothiriel's quick-witted improvisation that made the King utterly surrender his heart. But whatever it was, Faramir found Éomer standing outside the hall after all the ladies had departed according to some other Rohirric custom the details of which apparently no man knew whether or not he was playing prank or having one played upon him. Most of the men had either gone to bed or were still struggling against sleep and so it was that only he and his brother-in-law remained sober in the whole of Meduseld.  
  
"I would like to thank you, brother," said Éomer quite abruptly, even as Faramir still approached.  
  
"I suppose I should do the same," replied Faramir in a tone equally as casual. Éomer turned, wearing a broad grin.  
  
"You should have seen your face. I have not had such a good laugh in years. I hope you were not too offended."  
  
Faramir laughed politely. "Not offended. But I did wonder at your behavior before this morning. I read disapproval in your face, and I am not often wrong."  
  
"So my sister tells me," said Éomer. "But in truth I disapproved only of a wedding in Gondor. Do not think that I disapprove of the customs of Gondor, but Éowyn means so much to my people, and yet she has had so little happiness here. I wanted to give her a good memory of this place. And yet our customs are so different. I felt that I should tell you, but found the various differences difficult to describe."  
  
Éomer cleared his throat then and did not continue, and Faramir realized he would not. So he changed to subject, rather enjoying the discomfort the King was displaying.  
  
"So you seem quite taken with Lothiriel," Faramir said.  
  
Éomer looked at him askance, then cleared his throat again. "She is one of the fairest ladies I have ever seen," he said, then seemed to look at Faramir for some sort of encouragement.  
  
But the Steward only shook his head, having opted to have a little fun with this trickster of Rohan. "I have never looked on her that way. She is my cousin, after all."  
  
Éomer deflated somewhat, much to Faramir's amusement. "Well, I'm sure you should go look for Éowyn," he said, "Good night." Then the King clapped him on the back for the hundredth time that week and headed in the direction of his chambers.  
  
Suddenly a thought came to Faramir's mind and he shouted for the King to stop. "Éomer!" he called.  
  
Éomer turned. Faramir set his hand upon the pommel of his sword while brandishing a rakish grin. "If you pull any of this Rohirric wedding business with my cousin, her brothers and I will have to kill you."  
  
Éomer's eyebrows raised. Then he laughed. "Oh, the wedding was just a little diversion, Faramir. I'm not through with the two of you yet."  
  
Then he turned, still laughing, and retired for the night. For a few moments Faramir allowed himself to feel terrified, until he felt a gentle touch on his arm. He looked down to see Éowyn smiling at him. Then Faramir realized as his wife pulled him towards the hall that he didn't mind at all if Éomer King played another trick or a thousand. His pranks seemed quite agreeable to him.  
  
*****  
  
finis 


	4. Epilogue

Author's Notes: Thanks to all my reviewers!

Epilogue

*****

"Aldarion!  O, hear my plea! And shift your sails billowing 

_In eastern winds upon the sea_

_To western land of Numenor_

_Where waits your lady, whispering,_

_'I beg of you, return to me!'_

_Upon her face tears glistening_

_For fear you come to her no more…" _

Éomer admired his bride's voice from his place of honor at Imrahil's table.  His wife sat upon a small wooden chair on the highest tier of the dais, right next to her father's empty throne.  A harp rested upon her lap and her fingers upon the strings.  She was singing this at his request, for he remembered well that the first time he had truly loved her was when he had heard her sing this song.  That had been his sister's wedding feast.

This was his.  

They were in Dol Amroth, in Imrahil's great hall, but half of Rohan had come to witness the ceremony.  Almost all his lieutenants were present.  Most importantly, however, his sister had come with Prince Faramir.  They were the last of immediate family and he was pleased that they had been able to leave Ithilien so soon, for it had not been more than three months since they had left Meduseld.  His sister's presence meant much to him.  And although he hated to admit it, Faramir himself was turning into quite a good friend.  He still bore himself too seriously at times, but he had more than proven his ability to be at the brunt of everyone else's jokes and still remain good-natured.  Yes, Éomer, liked this most about his brother-in-law.  

Of course, now that it was his own wedding night he did wish that he had been a little less aggressive with the Steward.  Éomer just knew Faramir was plotting revenge.  He could see it in those shifty dark eyes of his.

"…The sea birds of the harbor cried That overhead did gently soar Then came the sailor, hastening, With sword of mithril at his side 

_And coat of armor shimmering_

To step onto the rocky shore…" 

Éomer momentarily allowed his gaze to shift from his radiant Lothiriel to Prince Faramir, jibing with his cousins near the ale barrels.  He fidgeted nervously.  He could have sworn that he'd heard his name being mentioned in their conversation.

Nevertheless he returned his attention back to Lothiriel, from whom he did not remove it until Faramir plopped down beside him, holding a mug of ale in each hand.  "My cousin has a beautiful voice, does she not?"

Éomer nodded, not even bothering to hide his happiness.  After all, Faramir was a married man.  Unlike his new bachelor brothers-in-law, Faramir understood the joy a woman could produce.  

But that did not necessarily make him a safe person to be with on this particular night.  

"Drink up," ordered Faramir, shoving one of the ales in his face.

Éomer observed the eagerness in Faramir's face and smiled knowingly.  "Oh no," said he with a laugh.  "You're not going to get me so easily."

"Why, brother, whatever do you mean?"

"You've put something in that ale," Éomer answered, taking it from him and setting it a safe distance away from him upon the table.

The Prince scoffed.  "Oh come off it.  I have not!"

Éomer crossed his arms, still fully confident in his assumption.  "Oh yes you have."

"No I ha…" started his brother-in-law, but stopped mid-sentence as if realizing how ridiculous they were being.  Finally, Faramir took a swig from his own ale and shrugged.  

"Have it your way, then.  I, on the other hand, know not to waste good brew."  The prince looked around, obviously looking for someone, but stopped as his eyes rested upon Éowyn, sitting at one of the nearby tables with the Queen Evenstar.

Éomer blanched.  "You're not giving that to my sister, are you?"

"Oh, actually, I was going to offer it to the Queen, but she does not seem to like ale," said Faramir.  "On the other hand, maybe you're right.  Maybe I should give it to Éowyn, for she would appreciate it more."  And he got up in order to give it to her.  Éomer watched him with keen interest as he rounded the table and approached his wife.  He watched as Éowyn took the proffered drink, wondering if he ought to prevent her, and also feeling reluctant to fall into any trap.  He held his breath as she took the first sip.  

Nothing happened.  

Apparently there had been nothing wrong with the ale at all, and Éomer scowled.  He felt somewhat irritated that Faramir had not played a trick on him.  He wanted to get it over with so he could enjoy himself.  Suddenly it occurred to him that Faramir's joke might be that he wasn't playing any jokes.  Perhaps he was just going to make him especially paranoid.  Or maybe he had sawed the slats of the wedding bed in half.Or maybe he would arrive at the wedding suite to find that Lothiriel was in fact Amrothos wearing a wig…

The possibilities haunted him all night and grew more and more imaginative as the night wore on.  He was barely aware when his wife's song ended, for he was only brought back into reality by the warm touch of her hand upon his own.

"Are you all right, Éomer?" she asked.  "You seemed to drift off during my song.  Perhaps it was too somber?  I didn't change it like last time."  

"No it was perfect, darling," he answered, kissing her hand.  He was rewarded with the expected cheering of the wedding guests.  Éomer rolled his eyes.  "Shall we take our leave?"

He was rewarded with an eager blush.  

*****

In the morning Éomer awoke to the sun pouring in through the window, which pleased him to no end.  Nothing had gone ill last night: no broken bed slats or spiders in the mattress.  There had been no outside noises, or brothers-in-law in his bed, or drugged ale or anything at all.  However, the best thing was that his beautiful Lothiriel was still sleeping soundly beside him, and there was no sign that either her brothers or Faramir had any intention of bursting through the door and hauling him to the beach for an unexpected morning bath.  It seemed his brother-in-law was not as apt a joker as he, but he couldn't help but feel grateful.  He liked the peace and quiet.  

Impulsively, Éomer leaned over and kissed Lothiriel's exposed shoulder.  She stirred at his touch and looked up at him, the love clearly shining from her eyes.  

"Good morning," was the first thing she said.  It was followed by, "I'm hungry."  

Her stomach growled as if to confirm what she had said, causing Éomer to laugh.  "After last night's feast?"

"I did not feast as much as you.  Someone made me sing through much of the evening," she teased.  

"Ah," said he.  "Well, in that case I shall get dressed and call one of the servants to bring us some food."

She groaned reluctantly, but after one kiss she let him go.  Éomer pulled on his pants, but he didn't bother with his tunic.  He would just pop his head out the door, bark for someone and then return to the bed.  

But when walked up to the door and pulled the handle, he instantly realized something was wrong.  It didn't budge.  

Éomer tugged once more, but nothing happened.  But then he laughed as he saw that he had forgotten to unlatch it.  

He unhooked the chain and pulled the wooden bar aside, and then pulled at the handle, expecting it to come open this time.

But again nothing happened.

From across the room, Lothiriel noticed his discomposure.  "Is something wrong, Éomer?"

He pulled one final time, without answering, and at last began to pound frantically on the door.  He heard a peal of laughter coming from outside the room, which sounded suspiciously familiar. 

Éomer fumed.  "FARAMIR!!!!!!!!!!"


End file.
